A.N.: There will be two of these stories, the first with, obviously, Gaara and Sakura, and the second with Naruto and Hinata. This one will probably only have two chapters, but, if it doesn't, it won't exceed three or four. Respectively, the Naruto and Hinata one will be completely separate and will have a similar name, only a little less...direct (I should say?) and you guys can go read it after I finish this one, probably.

This deals with the doubts Sakura has and the hesitation she has toward accepting Gaara's transformation. It's after Naruto's fight with him, after he decides to change, and kind of skims through his progress, mostly focusing on Sakura's troubling thoughts. I imagined she had felt scared after his previous attack on her village and was unwilling to forget the things he did, and how frightening he'd been. This is actually pretty short, and I think all of the chapters following will be like it, and her layout is a little confusing, but I hope you'll pull through.

A similar story I wrote is called "If He Just Hadn't existed", and this kind of stems from that. But this is, of course, a little slower.

You'll notice Naruto will be a big part of it, and that's only because of the bond they share between the three of them—Sakura being his teammate and Gaara being a jinchuuriki—and that he'll be mentioned every now and again as Sakura makes a connection between them.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Accept the Past

It was the thought of being near him that scared her the most.

There was something slithering beneath the surface of that placid mask of his, something glaring back at her through his cautious eyes, something inhuman and unnatural, and it made her shrink away in her fear, heart pounding in her chest and a cold feeling sinking in her stomach, trying her damnedest not to let him know how she truly felt.

He saw it, she knew that. His smooth brow would furrow and his pale eyes would tighten, looking away from her and letting the silence stretch thin between them, letting her guilt settle deeper within her mind, uncomfortable and strained as they would always seem to be.

He'd changed, and she was well aware of that.

It was there in the way he spoke, his raspy voice softer, calmer, and his hands relaxed at his sides, not clenched into angry fists or twitching with his madness, his hunger for death and destruction. It was there in his gaze, staring with something akin to kindness rather than the deep and unbiased hatred he'd felt before, blistering hotter than the desert sun he had been born under, where he had been shaped into the weapon he was always meant to be and hadn't wanted to be. It was there in his words and there in his faint, uncertain smiles.

It was there in his soul, and she could see it clearly.

But his presence still sent a shot of anxiety down her spine, and his gaze still made her want to run and hide somewhere he could never see her, where his sand could never reach her, and his pain could never touch her.

And he could see it, clear as day.

He knew she felt that way and he neither confronted her about it nor appeased her worries. He let her feel that way and she didn't understand why. Did it not hurt him to know that she still did not trust him? Did it not sadden him to know she perhaps never would?

He neither showed it nor spoke of it.

~~...~~*~~...~~

When he visited Konoha, he always visited Naruto, and that, inadvertently, put him near her.

Many of her comrades welcomed the change openly, asking him questions and smiling nicely at him, offering only their curiosity and their friendship. They learned to accept the change because Naruto accepted it, and if he was anything like Naruto, then they could like him, too. Because they both lived the same life, they both felt the same grief, and yet their paths were so different, and all because he had never felt the sweetness of acceptance, of acknowledgment, like Naruto had.

And so they gave it to him.

But she could not bring herself to do the same thing. She could not look at him without remembering the way he had hurt her teammates, the way he had almost killed her, the way he had grinned so savagely and the way he had cackled so wickedly, enjoying the scent of despair in the air and the way they had all screamed and cried. She could not smile at him as they did and could not speak to them as they could.

She could not learn to accept him.

And in those sad eyes, both brilliant blue and pallid green, she saw how much it hurt them, mutually, because they understood each other so well, had lived so similarly it was almost as if they were one mind, and she could feel her heart begin to shrivel up and die within her, looking away quickly as she realized her cruelty.

Because how could she hurt Naruto like that? How could she hurt a changing boy like that?

He tried so hard to make her see him differently, tried so hard to make her understand him, was especially nice to her and refrained from ever touching her, lest he harm her in some way he did not mean to—although, of course, he never dared touch another living soul either way—and she knew he really did just want her to forget the past, the old him that was already fading away with each passing day, but they both knew she couldn't.

How could she forget the way his sand had crushed her ribs, her back scraping against the thick bark of a tree and her head snapping back hard enough to make the whole world go black instantly, and the way the boy she had loved so much had shouted in pain, terrified of a monster she could never bury away? How could she forget the terror he had spilled across her home, the nightmare he had brought upon her people?

He couldn't expect her to.

~~...~~*~~...~~

When Naruto went on his journey, promising to return stronger, he stopped visiting altogether.

She did not let out a breath of relief until she knew, absolutely and completely, that he would not walk through those green gates again.

The anger that followed her reaction was immediate, and she hated herself for not wanting him here. Because he had offered so much help to her home, and was solidifying the alliance between Konoha and Suna as he aimed to become their new leader. He was doing good things, respectable things.

He was changing, and she could see it so clearly it almost blurred with the past.

But she could not think of him without her heart wanting to jump right out of her chest, her stomach twisting up in terror and her mouth growing dry. She could not see him without the feeling of falling down a great abyss, sharp rocks at the bottom and no way of ever getting out, clawing and scratching and screaming for help. She could not be around him without wanting to cower away and curl up so tightly she would hurt everywhere, until he left.

And it hurt him, she knew, to know she would not, no matter what, let herself believe in him.

Really, all he wanted was to feel supported, to know he could look back and have someone, anyone, smiling encouragingly and telling him, "You can do it." And, for some reason, she had to be one of them.

She had to be that someone to push him toward great things.

~~...~~*~~...~~

Perhaps it was because he'd hurt her so much. Perhaps it was because he'd caused her so much pain.

She didn't know why he needed to have her forgiveness, but she didn't think she could give it to him.

Behind her eyelids she saw his maniacal grin, his sharp and perfectly white teeth, his coldly widened eyes and his sand whipping around him furiously (as if it had a mind of its own). And she could hear his horrible laughter, his excited panting, his maddened growls, as she tried to close her eyes to sleep (for once in so long). She could remember every last detail, to the very last sensation she had felt before her pathetic failure to protect the one she loved most, and the paranoia she felt for so many months afterward, looking around frantically at her shadowed room for his lithe, tense figure somewhere, watching her, hating her, preying upon her sanity, promising he would finish what he hadn't that day.

And she grit her teeth every time she heard of his progress, willing herself to feel happy for him, to want to congratulate him on his inevitable success, but she couldn't.

No matter how hard she forced herself to see him through different eyes, she could not force herself to erase what had been done.

~~...~~*~~...~~

It came to be one day, as she practiced out in an open field, that he finally visited her home.

She shouted and punched and yelled and bashed through rocks and throughout the empty clearing, sunset-tinted skies above her, sweating through her clothes, droplets flicking off the ends of her long and pale hair, and he was there, standing patiently beside the coverage of some trees, watching silently as she trained, vigorously trying to push herself harder, to become stronger, to keep her promise to herself (I don't want to be weak anymore). The way she skidded to a halt, sandals scraping against the dirt beneath her, air tearing through her ivory teeth, green eyes wide in disbelief, made him draw back for a moment, unsure of himself for once, before stepping out from beneath the long and heavy shade, making his way over to her slowly.

There was no threat in his green eyes, no semblance of his wrath, but she still felt her heart crash against her ribcage, her bones tremble deep within her, frozen in her place.

"I'm sorry," he said in his raspy voice as he came to a stop, a careful distance away, eyes trying to communicate his regrets and hands curled into the cloth of his pants, waiting as she caught her breath in the following silence.

And there were a million things he could've been sorry about, a million things to apologize for, but as she opened her mouth to ask which one, his hand raised and it snapped shut, her skin growing clammy immediately, trying so hard to keep in place and not hurt him anymore than she already had.

"I wish I could take it back," he murmured, hand stopping just before he could touch her shoulder, as if wanting to comfort her and yet knowing he couldn't. That was a dangerous wish. Almost as bad as her own.

For she wished, so much, that he would just leave. She could not handle his remorse as much as she thought she could. She could not take his well-intended sadness, his distressed and contrite expression, because it broke her image of him—that horrible image of psychotic smirks and brutal resentment—and it shattered all around her, seeing his eyes soften with his sorrow, as ever-present an entity there in his gaze as his demon that had drove him to the insanity that frightened her so.

She could only shut her eyes, could only clench her fists, could only bow her head, as she realized, with a jolt, that he was not who she thought he was. And he never would be again.

"I forgive you," she whispered, and her world fell down around her in violent crashes and spinning, erratic lies, a sigh leaving him as a weight was perhaps lifted off his shoulders.

~~...~~*~~...~~

When she heard of his success, she had sunk her teeth into her arm, shoving away the picture that threatened to attack her as his name was spoken, along with heavy praises and cheerful laughter. The picture of who he wasn't anymore, blood trickling down her arm in dark crimson strands of wrongful reluctance, flashed through her mind in spite of herself, and she squeezed her eyes shut in her misplaced misery.

They celebrated the fact that he had reached his goal, and spoke of how they hoped that Naruto would, one day, accomplish the same.

The alliance between Konoha and Suna was completely concrete now, thanks to him, and the support they offered one another was splendid and enviable, to any and all villages in the Shinobi World.

She could not find it in her to feel as festive as everyone else did.

And she did, for so long, search through herself for just the slightest bit of happiness for him.

She tore across the forest, miles outside of her village, smashing down trees and splintering trunks, breaking boulders and crying out in frustration and fury, yanking out full systems of roots and life and snapping in half whatever she could get her trembling and shaking hands on, sharp pinpricks wedging into her fingers and hissing in pain as she jerked her hands away quickly, only to kick right through the ground, letting the jutting rocks and earth slide and grind against one another.

Why couldn't she just be happy for him? Why couldn't she just accept him?

Was it really so hard to forget the one time he had struck so much fear within her?

Was it really so hard to turn her head from who he once was?

Why, why, why couldn't she just see the person he was now?

She didn't stop until she had passed out in a heap of exhaustion beside a river of icy water.

~~...~~*~~...~~

Why was she fighting for him?

Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as she slammed her fist into wood, shattering another puppet beneath her brute strength, flipping and shoving herself away before a poison covered sword could pierce her skin in retaliation. A split second of rest, just a moment to breathe the bloody air around her, and she was wrapping her hand around the nearest rigid wooden limb and spinning to crush one red-cloaked figure against another, ducking and running and evading whatever slash was aimed at her, purple liquid splattering across the scatterings of rocks around her, the wearing clothing upon her, the destruction she had caused in all her fiery and frenzied fury, pushing and pushing and pushing until she was left staring into emotionless dusty brown eyes, a perfect, immortal face, a sword sunken into her abdomen as whispery words were breathed into the air, and her body was shaking from the force of the poison, her anger, her rage, her confusion.

Why was she fighting for him?

The second she saw him, perhaps mere minutes later, she knew he was dead. It was the relaxed look upon his face, how smooth his brow was, how tranquil his body seemed, how peaceful he was in his stillness. All of his muscles were loose, she could see, and his auburn hair ruffled serenely in the gentle breeze that shook the very foundations of her own body. She pressed her practiced, uncovered fingers against his chest, over his gray vest and cold buckles, where no heart beat and no breath stirred, and waited and waited and waited until she could gather the strength to look up at Naruto, whose bright blue eyes burned with such pain, such anguish, such agony, such animosity toward the people who had done this, that she could feel it stab its way right through to her heart, and tell him what she had already known from the moment she saw him in that cave, seeing him for the first time in nearly a year, to shake her head silently because she could not bear to say it aloud and be the cause of the absolute tearing of his already wounded heart.

And he would understand, instantly, what she was trying to say.

That the boy who had shared an entire life time of sadness and loneliness with him, who had shared the same feeling of desperation and sorrow as him, was gone forever, and that he would never open those green eyes again.

And where she assumed she would feel relief, where she assumed she would feel happiness, where she assumed she would finally accept the way he had changed—now that he was gone and now that it was tangible—she felt despondence as deep as the abyss she may have fallen into some time ago already. And the ache that froze over her heart was as surprising as the tears that fell from her teammate's cobalt eyes.

Had he been alive, he may have been glad to see he was changing her mind about him. Now, after his untimely demise.

She did not smile at the thought.

~~...~~*~~...~~

A.N.: Took a whole night and I'm tired as hell, but there it is. I'll finish the next one tomorrow, I'm sure.

Tell me what you think and please review! I'm bad with stories, I know I am. -.-